A Small Comfort
by lelianas-song
Summary: Garrus reminisces back to the good old days where he and Shepard spent time together. One Shot!


He was the last one to visit. He had to give the others time to clear out her things. It was too painful to be surrounded by everything she was associated with when the wound of her loss was still so fresh. So they took her weapons, and her pictures, and the small possessions that Shepard no longer needed, and would never need. They took turns visiting, for the closure, for their own goodbyes, and for their own chance to say the things they had never dared until the chance was too late.

And so Garrus faced the mammoth task, the door to her cabin hanging dauntingly ajar as he peered into the expanse of her all but abandoned room. He sighed, the sound drawn out and tired and so, so sad. He walked in slowly, unwillingly, knowing the frailness he felt at the mention of her name, so feeling especially unnerved to be within the confines of her living space for, perhaps, the last time.

He moved to the bed, instinctively - the corner of the room that held a lot of bittersweet nostalgia. He adjusted his eyepiece as he focused on the pristine sheets, left perfect even in her absence. He half-heartedly joked to himself that she never could have an untidy space. The noise of his own laugh surprised him, and something about being alone, about being in Shepard's room, didn't make him silence immediately. Gingerly, he perched on the edge of the grey bed, exhaling a pent up sigh of uneasiness. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why did you have to leave, huh?" he asked the nothingness, greeting silence as a reply with stoic coolness.

Garrus shakily lifted himself up from the sheets, fighting hard against the stubborn numbness taking over his body. He recomposed and quickly shooed away the lingering pain that presented itself from the harsh reply of empty air. He could not stomach sitting down any longer. The softness of the covers between his fingers only brought back the memories of the nights he and Shepard had shared, and it was too much for him to handle. Instead, he decided to keep his mind occupied with more practical tasks. He moved to Shepard's wardrobe, opening its metal frame with, now usual, trepidation, and staring at the emptiness inside. Emptiness, apart from Shepard's uniform which still lay eerily in place. He removed the black garments from their rail, and set them to rest on her bed. He was supposed to take the uniform from the room - that was his job. That and to say his goodbyes, though no one had mentioned that. They hadn't needed to – the pain was evident in everyone.

He looked at the clothes, laid cautiously on the grey sheets. He didn't feel the need to sigh or look away, and that surprised him. Instead, it felt as if a wound was slowly closing. As if closure, in this physical way, was a medicinal plaster, healing him, slowly, _painfully_, but surely. Surely healing him. Perhaps, though he still felt weak, and he sure as hell didn't feel healed just yet.

Garrus took a quick glance to the side at a half empty bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy Dr Chakwas had left. A drink to suppress the ache in his stomach seemed like a good idea. His feet swivelled and picked up pace as he marched over to the beverage. He clasped the Brandy with both hands and took a big swig, almost downing the whole contents in one. It felt a bit better having something sharp in the back of his throat. It helped wash away the choke of the evening. He shook his head, and put the drink back down. It didn't do well to drink away his problems; that was one of the many lessons his father had taught him. "I've seen too many drunken fights end badly to let you be in one of them, Garrus."

He put on some music in the background and laughed, despite himself, as he remembered the night he and Shepard had danced. He was dancing again, swaying on the spot, eyes closed as he recalled the image of her in his arms. She leaned into him at the end of the dance and said to him, "You're my archangel, aren't you, Garrus Vakarian?" before kissing him gently, and walking away. She was there for business, not for silly distractions.

He opened his eyes; he was there for business, not for silly distractions. He sunk down onto the bed, and rested his face in his hands. He shook his head, and stood up. Her bed was empty, as usual. She barely slept; she didn't see the need to. Whenever he expressed his concerns, she would reply, "I'll sleep when I'm dead", and she didn't. A woman of her word. He respected that. He picked up her clothes, and held them close to his face. He inhaled deeply, trapping the scent in his nostrils. He draped them over his arm, and then looked around the room once more.

"Goodnight, Shepard," he said, and closed the door as he walked out, one last time.


End file.
